Scapegoat
by Paltomi
Summary: [Dual Destinies spoilers!] To protect the child of the person dearest to him, he threw away absolutely everything – his pride, his reputation, his freedom. He was a prosecutor disgraced by his "crime." They were the inmates ruined by prosecutors. They wanted revenge. Then they found a scapegoat. [mature content]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Response to a kink meme prompt from awhile back requesting hardcore Simon gang-rape, humiliation, and abuse. **Not for the faint of heart – please read responsibly!**

**Rated M** for strong language, self-harm, and intense and graphic depictions of gang-rape, torture, and humiliation.

**Spoilers for:** Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney – Dual Destinies

* * *

It took a single day for the news of former prosecutor Simon Blackquill's incarceration to spread throughout the prison community, and only three more for him to end up like this, pushed against a wall in the yard, naked from the waist down, his own boxers stuffed into his mouth and bound in place with a strip of coarse fabric torn from his uniform trousers. His hands were being tied behind him, tight enough to leave marks, with a thin, sharp wire that one of the inmates had gotten from somewhere. If any of the guards present saw what was going on, or predicted what was about to occur, they averted their eyes and said nothing.

"Bitch," growled the large man holding him, releasing him a moment later only to push him down onto his knees. "If it weren't for you fuckin' prosecutors, we wouldn't even be in this hellhole!"

Someone brought their foot crashing against his bare ass, and Simon collapsed onto his front, dirt rising up in a cloud from the impact, burning his eyes. He tried to pull his hands free from the wire but only managed to cut and abrade them. Laughter flared up around him. A foot found its way between his thighs and nudged his groin. He let an astonished cry into his gag and snapped his legs shut, trying to force out the intrusion. There was more laughter at that, and his face burned.

"So, who wants to fuck the little shit senseless first?" said the same man who had held him. Simon wriggled forward, trying, in almost crazed desperation, to get someone's, _anyone's_, attention, to stall the assault until one of the guards decided enough was enough and had to intervene. His attempts, however, were met only with amusement from his captors, and he was quickly dragged back by the ankles, skinning his cheek along the ground.

Nobody stopped them.

A hand came down hard across his ass, and with a sob, he lurched forward. Someone buried their hand in his hair, jerked his head back against his neck so that all he could see through his tear-blurred vision was the cold gray of the sky. Another inmate started fingering him, shoving two, then three digits into his hole and scissoring them wildly without rhyme or reason. Simon had never had sex before, had, in his love for his job, never really wanted it, or even thought much about it. The pain of those unnatural intrusions in his most intimate space, however, was enough that he decided then and there that he detested the act entirely.

"He's tight as fuck," his assailant grunted from behind him, attempting to force in a fourth finger. "I think the fucking whore is a virgin!"

There was a round of laughter at this that Simon hardly heard over his muffled screams. "A whore-virgin!" someone roared in mirth. "Then get your damn fingers out of him and let me fix that!"

Simon felt immediate relief as the fingers were withdrawn from him. He then realized, with a flush of shame, that his penis had become stiff between his thighs from the torture, though he'd derived no pleasure from it. The word "whore" rang out across the prison yard, and his penis throbbed with the echoes, as if affirming it. He didn't notice how hot his face had gotten until a cool tear splashed against it.

"The little bitch is crying!" one of his tormentors shouted then, and there was a cacophony of jeers and laughter. "I'll give you something to really cry about, you fucking whore!"

Someone was pulling him back again with a bruising grip on his hips, although this time, they situated him on his knees, with his ass in the air. He didn't have time to struggle out of this position before something much thicker and harder than a finger brushed against his entrance.

_Sensei_, he thought, so much in a panic that he forgot for the moment that she was dead. _Please, help me! A-Aura! I... I need you!_

Tears spilled down his cheeks, and he cried out in anguish as his attacker thrust suddenly into him.

_This isn't happening. This can't be happening! Someone – anyone... Please... Stop this..._

But nobody did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rated M** for strong language, self-harm, and intense and graphic depictions of gang-rape, torture, and humiliation.

**Spoilers for:** Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney – Dual Destinies

* * *

"Fuck. He really is tight."

Simon felt his ass clench on its own around the intrusion, and a shudder tore through him. He convulsed, then flopped forward, straining the muscles in his shoulders. Mud mixed from tears and dirt stung his eyes as he lay on his face on the ground, and if he hadn't been gagged, he was sure he would have tasted the sharp, tangy bitterness of it, too. He was crying, though he didn't want to be, and his sobs were throaty and visceral, muffled by the fabric pushing his tongue down and his jaws apart. His ass felt hot and wet and broken, like someone had shoved a sword up there, cutting his insides and leaving him to bleed out through his hole. He didn't want to move – it would only aggravate the wounds - but his captor had his hands clamped over his hips and was shaking and shoving him to accommodate his own needs.

"Goddammit!" the man growled, and he speared Simon again with an inadvertent thrust as he moved to adjust him. "He's so fuckin' tight that it fuckin' hurts!"

He dragged himself back, and Simon quivered and moaned as the friction seared across his wounds. Something cool and sticky slipped from the man's sword and onto the back of his leg, and he didn't need to see it to know it was blood. He clenched his eyes shut, the mud trapped behind his eyelids burning them, and through tightly gritted teeth, he tried his damnedest not to whimper.

With barely a moment's reprieve, the man plunged back into him, and Simon's knees collapsed, leaving him clutched in the thick fingers at his sides. He struggled against the restraints around his wrists, but even the subtlest movements brought the edge of the wire deeper into his skin, and the bonds didn't give. Soon enough, his hands were damp and sticky, too.

_I'm going to die,_ he thought, and his gag stifled another tortured moan as the man withdrew himself and then slammed in again. _There will be no execution – I-I am going to be killed right here._

And he was overcome by the cold, dead void of despair.

His backside was slicked with blood and fluid. The man continued to pound into him, increasing his speed until Simon was groaning independently of the thrusts. His throat was sore and dry, and his mouth was heavy with the saliva-soaked cotton garment stuffed into it. Even so, he cried out, hoping, _praying_, for a guard, for _anyone_, to acknowledge him, to step in and stop this, to _save him_.

_No – I don't want to die!_

And then there was an explosion of hot fluid inside of him, and the sword was wrenched from his backside as he was dropped to the ground like a rag doll. The warm, thick liquid dribbled slowly out of him, moving down his buttocks before sliding onto the backs of his thighs. He could still feel some of it inside of him as it started to cool and dry there.

_I don't want to die..._

A stream of something caught him in the face then, just under his right eye, and slowly rolled down his cheek and onto his lips, then his tongue. It was salty and vile, but his gag kept him from spitting it out. The man who had ejaculated on him grabbed a fistful of his hair with one hand and proceeded to wipe his seed across his face with the other.

"That's how you _should_ look, you fucking whore!" he snarled, slamming Simon's face back into the mud. "You should be proud to have my cum on your slutty pretty-boy face!"

Simon's chest was heaving, his shoulders trembling. He was suffocating, or hyperventilating, or maybe he was just dying.

_I don't want..._

_Raped_. He'd been raped. Was _being_ raped. And nobody had stopped them. Nobody had stepped in to help him. They'd let it happen. No - they'd _approved_ it, _encouraged_ it, even, with their silence. And now he, Simon Blackquill, former prosecutor, now prisoner, wrongly convicted of murder, was slumped in the muck, half-naked, with his wrists mangled and tied behind him and his mouth sealed shut, tears staining his face and blood and cum smeared across his torn and beaten ass.

_No... Kill me..._

Someone dragged him up by the collar, forcing him onto his sore knees. A penis was thrust at his mouth while another inmate behind him undid his gag.

"Suck it, bitch," the man before him sneered. His boxers were removed from his mouth, but before he could relax, the cock was thrust between his aching jaws and forced to the back of his throat. He gagged as his head was pulled forward, and soon he was choking, running out of air, and he realized then that death would probably greet him quickly, mercifully if he was lucky.

So he closed his eyes and welcomed it.


End file.
